


The Middleman

by xof1013



Category: Queer as Folk (UK), Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Crossover, First Time, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Slash, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xof1013/pseuds/xof1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Putting the "M" in Middleman – a threesome/first-time story set Post UK and Pre-US QAF, during a chance meeting on a night in New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Middleman

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, 2006. For the sake of the story, it's set soon after the end of the UK series, but about two years before the US series begins. I wanted to take the threesome idea and shake up the mix, since it's usually Brian that people put with S/V. So here's my take on how it would work with Michael, instead. Many thanks to Alexis for the beta.

"The Middleman"  
by xof

February 14, 2006

 

It was supposed to be their night, the two of them – best friends out prowling the town; dancing and drinking and laughing until dawn. It was supposed to have been their night together, no one else but them. But best laid plans and all that rot….

First came the meetings that separated them during the day, one off building his career and his corporate image while the other wandered the city alone – playing tourist and waiting till he would see his friend that night. Only to have each of their two nights previous, taken up with business dinners that left them without each other until one was left arriving back in their room to find the other asleep on the couch, the television playing its lullaby to an audience of one.

Three days and two nights gone, with barely any time that was theirs. A working vacation that was more work than play, with only two nights and a day still theirs – if only they could grab it as theirs. So they'd planned ahead, the one promising that he'd try to bow out early on the goodbye dinner he was being invited, read demanded, to attend via the New York offices of his firm. And his friend, excited but anxious that their plans would fall through like all the rest, agreeing to meet him at the club. Agreeing to wait till he arrived….

Like so many nights before, the pattern well worn – waiting till he would arrive, waiting till he was done in the tangle of another's arms in a darken room, and then waiting till it was time to see him home. The designated friend, caretaker and driver.

The designated waiter on more than one night like tonight.

And for the most part it was fine; it was where he wanted to be. To be the one, the only one, that was the always in his friend's nightly equation. The constant sum of their years, familiar – tried and true.

But as he stood by the bar, squeezed into a corner by the mass of bodies moving to the driving beat of the music that played loud and endless around them, he looked inside himself and allowed the thought – the question of more, to fill his head. Glancing at his watch, seeing that over three hours had been and gone on the time they'd agreed on – he was left to shake his head. He was tired, tired of waiting. Tired of being the reliable one. Tired of his own status quo.

Taking the last swallow from the beer – his fourth of the night - he'd been nursing as his body cooled from the dancing he'd been doing, all he could do was close his eyes and breathe deep. His body was tight, aroused and aching from before – from the dancing, grinding and touching of dozens of hands as he'd moved on the floor. The club was packed, Friday in the Big Apple – and he'd been the focus of not a little interest since he'd hit the door; but he'd held back, thinking any minute the other would show. Not wanting to miss him, he'd held back and hadn't taken up any of the offers made to follow – the darkness beckoning as he steeled himself and remained in the light.

But now, it was obvious that he wasn't coming like he'd said.

Which left him disappointed, on edge and angry. Mostly with himself for having held back; feeling like a sad pathetic fool for not allowing himself to give in. To be as he wanted, whether his friend was there or not. Eyes scanning the scene, he stood on the brink of a decision – stay or go. To do, or not. It was tempting to remain, to enter back into the fray and allow himself the freedom of letting go. But even as he thought about it, he knew he wouldn't. New city, strange and big. A thousand dangers and might-happens running through his mind, warred with his heated body and blood – and he knew he was leaving. Better the fantasies in his head and the solitary pursuit of his own hand, than the chasm of playing on an unfamiliar field.

Give him Babylon on any night…. At least there, he felt at home. At ease. And decidedly not as adrift as he did now.

'Fuck it,' he thought – he was off. The luxury hotel awaiting with soft sheets, a large tub and room service courtesy of his friend's company would more than do. And with that he left, a smooth buzz flowing through his system from the beer and the lingering feel of hands running over his body as he passed through the crowd.

\- - - - - - -

The elevator proved to be almost filled to capacity, which given that it was after one in the morning had him shaking his head and smiling at the irony. He'd escaped one mad crush of bodies for another, again finding himself held in the corner, staring at the backs of his fellow passengers as the doors opened and closed on this and that floor. People getting off, getting on and still he stood pressed against the mirrored interior waiting – again with the waiting, fuck – for the lift to reach his floor.

Deep breath, and he closed his eyes – trying like he'd done at the club, to close off the noise and atmosphere so that he could be at home in his own head. Time ticking by so slow, the ping of the doors filtering in more than once, before he felt the shift of space alter – opening his eyes to see that most of the occupants had finally gotten off – less than five people remaining as the elevator continued to rise.

Glancing around, he frowned – still more than half way to go judging by the numbers blinking at him in green from the panel by the doors. Shifting impatiently, he drew one of his arms down, hugging it to the front of his body with the other – pressing it as nonchalantly as he could to the slight rise at his groin – wanting to be out of the box, and back in his room. Wanting to be somewhere where he could take care of the humming of his body; to ease the need he'd been feeling half the night.

Nerves ratcheted up even more, strung tight and silently cursing his luck at picking the busiest elevator of the bunch – he didn't even realize he was being watched until he looked up from the floor after the doors closed again for the next to last person's exit to find that he'd become the focus of the remaining passenger's attention.

Looked up and found himself caught, captured and held in the heat of the other man's eyes. Frozen in place, he stood staring back – feeling hot as the vibrant blue fire of the man's eyes traveled over him with not a word said, but the message clear that they had found something, someone they liked. They wanted.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, he felt his face heat the longer the other looked his way. There was a power to it, the expression on the man's face – the knowledge that he could, and would look his fill. Along with the light of satisfaction that he knew his attention was having its effect. Here was a man who felt he had a right to whatever he wanted, but who also had the confidence and charm to back it up.

It wasn't just that he was attractive; it was that his manner made him beautiful. Slim, dark hair, tan skin and sparkling eyes – he was….

He was what he knew himself to be, a predator who was assured of his prey.

And then he moved….

And damn but the way he moved, only five or six steps but still it was enough to have a yes already halfway to being said before the question had even been asked. No matter the question being asked.

Then the voice breaking through his cluttered senses as he heard the man say, "Had a good night?"

Dark eyes widening, he nodded – his words coming out ahead of his head as he answered back in a hush. "Irish?" As if it weren't obvious in the lilting seduction that was the man's voice.

Smiling back, eyes amused and face still striking, he didn't confirm – only continued, "Want a better one?"

Lost for a moment, he didn't answer – couldn't as he felt the other man press up against him, arms holding the rails that lined the walls surrounding them at waist level. Inhaling deeply, he stopped again – thinking 'wow, he smells good' – before saying the first thing he could manage, "I'm Michael."

Grinning wider, the man leaned in and murmured softly, "Stuart."

Distracted again by the man's, by Stuart's, scent – Michael barely managed not to turn his head into the curve of the Irishman's neck for more, instead looking up into a sea of blue as he said, "Hi."

A laugh, quiet and intimate as it came, left Stuart's lips as he answered, "Hello." His eyes passed down over the shorter man's face, his mouth and then down further – taking in the tight jeans and red tee. Coming closer, not an inch between their bodies, he pressed his lips to Michael's ear. "I have a friend, Michael."

Blinking, Michael bit back a gasp as Stuart dropped a hand between them and cupped his hardening flesh through his jeans. A moan did escape as Stuart took to tasting him, lips passing over the curve of his ear and the line of his jaw. "I, ahh, I don't…." Trying again, he said, "Wha…. Who?"

His hand stroking, circling between Michael's legs, Stuart smoothed a touch across Michael's mouth with his own – so soft as to almost have never been there. "A friend, yeah." Pulling back and smiling as Michael unconsciously moved to follow with face raised and mouth parted, Stuart brought his other hand up and slid his thumb over Michael's lips, pressing gently until they opened and took it inside. Eyes closing, Stuart bit his lip as Michael swept his tongue over the digit, sucking so sweetly. Stuart hummed appreciatively before opening them again, saying, "You'd be perfect."

The voice, the scent, the feel of him all mixed together was a heady thing for Michael – who wasn't as familiar with being on the receiving end of such attention. Well, such attention that actually had intent behind it, that is. But he wasn't, hadn't – not before. Turning his head with a groan, Michael couldn't help but move against the talent of Stuart's touch – his hard-on trapped within the tight constraints of his jeans. Mouth free, he licked his lips as if to keep the taste of Stuart for as long as it remained – only to gasp as Stuart took him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Sweeping, consuming – lewd and wet, it blasted over his senses and vented the dark man's desire until Michael was shaking with it. Just as quickly, it was over and Michael leaned back into his touch, voicing unsteady as he asked, "For what?"

Stuart's answer, when it came, was fond and knowing. "Perfect, because if he were standing there in your place, kiss wet lips and hard-on hot – he'd have asked that same question. No matter how obvious the answer." He leaned in, grinning into their next kiss – remaining there until the ping that signaled the elevator's opening doors sounded. A glance at the empty hall, and he pulled back – a hand clasped in the belt loop of Michael's jeans, a tug towards the door. "My floor." A quick passing kiss, a lick smooth and warm inside and he stepped out, one word left in his wake. "Coming?"

\- - - - - - -

It was funny how long and yet short a hotel hallway could seem, and did seem despite the enticing view of Stuart's backside leading the way. Closed door after closed door left behind, until with a sudden turn Stuart was blocking his way and grinning with a twinkle in his Irish eyes as Michael found himself caught out, having been staring at the man's ass.

Coming close, Stuart pressed Michael against the nearest door and leaned in to kiss him – releasing a pleased sound as Michael slid his hands down over Stuart's hips to touch his much admired bottom. Laughing as Michael arched up for more of his teasing mouth, his fingers tightening as Stuart playfully backed away to whisper, "Cheeky," over Michael's lips – effectively ending the kiss as Michael groaned at the pun and buried his face in the curve of Stuart's neck. Murmuring in his ear, Stuart said, "Right pocket."

Michael leaned back against the support behind him, eyes locked on Stuart as he reached into the man's pocket – watching as Stuart made even that small gesture seem like the dirtiest fantasy made flesh, and all by expression on his face. Heart beating fast and strong, Michael still managed to play out the moment as he searched in and found the item inside – pulling the keycard free as Stuart reached to take it from his hand. Only to resist handing it over, their fingers locked around the plastic as Michael said, "This friend…." Leaving it open for Stuart to say or add anything he chose, but letting him know that Michael wasn't heading into this blind – the man's charms not withstanding.

Straightening slightly, Stuart nodded – voice resonating with a warmth that belied his frown as he answered, "Vince."

Thinking here was a man that wasn't one for personal elaboration, Michael ran his free hand up Stuart's chest – stopping with his palm pressed flat over the man's heart. "Just a friend?"

A glance to the side, and a smile – small but flashing with school boy charm and an affection that Michael had a feeling wasn't often seen by a stranger, touched Stuart's lips before he answered, "He's…. Vince."

That tone, the way Stuart said the other man's name – it was familiar enough for Michael to understand in an instant. Layered with history, warmth and not a small amount of possession – he had been hearing it himself for half a lifetime. Whenever Brian said his name.

Which meant, possibly, that something more was happening than just a fun night for three….

Turning Stuart's face towards his with a touch, Michael nodded – his expression open as he said, "Mine's named Brian." He leaned up, kissing Stuart and then asked softly, "You haven't had him yet, your Vince?"

With a shake of his head, Stuart pulled the keycard from Michael's hand before running the hard edge up the line of Michael's inner thigh. He grinned as Michael jerked with a moan at the sensation before adding, "He'll like you."

It was important, Michael could tell – that he be, that this be, something Vince would like. He laughed gently, "I'm your foot through the door." Reaching out for the card as Stuart held it above his head, Michael pressed up against him and smiled. "That'll be a first for me."

Stuart released the card, saying, "New world, new ground." Before Michael could ask what he meant, he pushed his hand back down to Michael's groin, "Feels like you're up for it."

Michael gasped as Stuart worked his magic through the denim of his jeans. He passed his fingers down between their bodies, touching him in turn. "You too."

Moving back to tease the curve of Michael's ear, Stuart nipped him just sharply enough for Michael to sag against him, breathing hard. "Open the fucking door, Michael." He stood back, adding, "It's time."

The last said like a thought spoken, a decision made. But also like something greatly desired, feared never to pass…. Until lines were crossed, and new steps taken.

\- - - - - - -

The room was well appointed, almost an exact match to the one Michael and Brian were sharing just two floors above. The sitting area was a clutter though, practically every available area covered with designer label clothing bags that evidenced just how the two men had been spending their day. Though the odd souvenir sitting in amongst the expensive mess also spoke to them having played tourist a time or two.

The television was on, but the volume low – the shine from it opening up the darkness as it cast shadows in the low light of the room. A lamp or two was turned on here and there, all set softly – their glow warm, creating a welcoming atmosphere, comfortable and nice. To the right was the bed, large and empty. No one else was in the room as Stuart led Michael inside, and he was on the verge of asking why when Stuart turned off the television and the sound of water coming from behind the bathroom door filled in the answer for them both.

"It's one of his favorite things, bathing." Stuart's voice crossed the distance between he and Michael, who was still standing on the edges of the room as the Irishman threw down the keycard on the table by the bed.

Michael nodded, "If your bathroom is anything like ours, he could get lost in there for days." They were teasing, his words, but there was something in Stuart's face that made Michael add, "A friend, naked and wet, just a closed door away. And you, deciding." He glanced at the door as the water turned off, "No wonder you went for a walk."

Stuart stood still, staring at him for a long moment before saying, "You don't know me."

It was on the tip of Michael's tongue to say no; he didn't know Stuart. But he was fairly sure he understood him. And this….

But his chance was gone the minute the door opened, a wave of steam spilling out before, after and around the man who entered the room unaware of what, and who was standing before him.

Towel over his head and hands scrubbing, Vince entered blind onto the new playing field that was Stuart's spontaneous creation. Skin still damp and rosy from the heat, he stood there half naked with only another towel around his waist to cover his charms. And charming he did appear, slim build – a little more filled out than Stuart at a glance, but judging by the arms and shoulders – the muscles defined, looking strong – it was earned through hard work, rather than natural luck. Eyes drawn down, Michael looked his fill in the space of a moment – following the soft hair centered on the man's chest, then down as it trailed over the soft barely there curve of stomach and disappeared beneath the towel obscuring the rest of his view. And then the towel fell….

Well, the one covering his head that was.

Leaving him there, blinking and taking in the scene before him. Taking in the addition of someone new to the room. Reactions flew across his face – surprise, confusion and then as his eyes passed from the stranger that was Michael to Stuart, a quick flash of something…. A mix, quick and quickly hidden as he dropped his eyes to the floor. But Michael had seen; had caught the fall of it – disappointment and resignation, maybe even anger, there and gone just as fast before Vince covered with an embarrassed smile, raising his head and saying in a tumbling rush, "Blimey, do they deliver right to the door, then? Kidding, uhm. I'm, I'll just… Vince, I'm Vince. Be right, uhm, I'll get some and yeah… Clothes. I'll go down for awhile, and you… Leave you two to…"

It hadn't taken much, only a turn in time as Vince began to fumble with his words – he'd barely begun, the awkwardness and *effort* so very plain in his voice, and Michael was drawn in, magnetized by the man as he played witness to something so familiar in the other's nature that it was like having a vision of one's self. They weren't the same man, they weren't in the same situation – but this place, this internalization and cover was something Michael knew from the inside out. And it called to him so surely that he found himself crossing the floor before he realized he'd begun to move.

Coming close, Michael blocked Vince's way. "Wait, I'm…." He looked at Vince, into his eyes – so blue, and had to smile, gently trying to engage the other's attention as he said, "Michael. I'm Michael." Raising a hand, he dared to touch him – fingers running over the line of one shoulder, tracing the collarbone before he pressed it flat over the man's chest, feeling the beating heart just below. "Hi…"

Another look passing over Michael's shoulder, and Vince turned back – voice low, husky, a bit unsettled as he said, "Hello, I… Vince." His breath deepened just a bit as Michael turned his hand around, circling his knuckles down and over across Vince's nipple. "I said that al… already."

Pressing closer, water drops on Vince's chest soaking into Michael's red tee – Michael leaned in and nodded; his laugh passing over the skin of Vince's throat as he whispered, "Sounded just as good the second time. The accent's nice." Nuzzling his face in the curve of Vince's neck, he moved his hands around the other's waist – spanning the skin of his lower back and pushing them together. Michael skimmed the line of Vince's jaw with his lips, coming to rest his mouth over his ear. "You feel warm, Vince. Wet and warm."

A shiver passed through Vince, signaling that Michael had found a spot he liked. Very much judging by how quickly Vince's hands came around him, clutching at him as he continued to mouth and taste the sensitive skin under his lips. Circling his hips, Michael made a sound – needful and pleased as he found Vince responding. The sound cut off as he turned his head only to find that Vince was there, kissing him.

Hungry, wet – they continued; Michael opening for Vince, then demanding he do the same as he slid his tongue inside, passing it over and into Vince with a soft moan. Arching against him, Michael's touch grew stronger, wanting more as he fed on the taste of him. As he tasted the touch of smoke on his tongue; something he had always associated with another, with Brian. It made him bold, giving him the drive to take it further.

Breaking the kiss, he took Vince's hand and pushed it down between them until they were both cupping the rise of Vince's hard-on through the towel. "Let me see you."

Eyes closing for a second as Michael pressed their hands harder, Vince opened them and gave a look around – his gaze falling on Stuart, who hadn't moved from where he'd been standing. They held each other's eyes for a long, long moment until Vince gave a nod, stuttering out, "you first," in a rasp.

The words meant for Stuart, it was his answer to them both. His yes, made clear.

Michael turned his head, watching as Stuart started walking towards them, silent and dark. His face so full of focus, and intent. Shoes kicked off and fingers reaching for the buttons on his shirt, he had worked them free before he'd even made it across the room – the black silk trailing down to the floor in his wake. Pants sliding down with a twist of his hips, spilling at his feet – leaving him in only dark boxer briefs.

The sight of him enough to heat the room, and quicken the pulse….

"Fuck, look at you." Michael swallowed, the words having left him without a thought.

Only to see Stuart smile, as Vince gave a rueful laugh – saying, "It can become a habit."

The expression on Vince's face had Michael nodding, "That I can believe." His voice trailed off with a sudden intake of breath, Stuart pressing himself against his back – no hesitation, just right in for the kill. Or the kiss, as Michael found – his face turned by a strong touch and lips taken, taken and tasted with a skill he could feel right down to his toes.

And as quick as that, the small part of Michael's brain that was still functioning was thankful that he was pressed between them because his legs were gone, his world tilted in the rush. The rush of Stuart's fire and the feel, the insistence of hands traveling over Michael's body – two under his shirt, mapping his chest and twisting his nipples as another mouth started laying claim to the curve of his throat. Vince in front, Stuart behind.

And Michael, the middleman.

Jerked out of the kiss by the raking of cotton over his head, Michael gasped for air as Vince gave his jeans a pull – button popped and zipper down. And then it was Stuart's hands on his hips, tearing them to the floor – jeans and underwear, until Michael was clutching at Vince for balance, being kissed again as Stuart eased off his shoes and all the rest before coming up against him again. Stuart's hands running hot over his skin, tracing the curve of his ass, had Michael groaning against Vince's mouth – the sensation of cotton covered cock thrusting hard and needful at his crease causing him to push back into Stuart's body even as Vince's hands held him by the waist, fingers clutching strongly as their passion continued to rise.

Opening his eyes, Michael quickly took Vince's hands and pulled them back behind him, guiding them to Stuart's hips as he took things a step further for both men. "Take 'em off him. Just ... one ... good ... push."

An almost startled pause - the look on Vince's face a mixture only describable as 'oh shit' and 'oh my god', and then his attention shifted over Michael's shoulder to the man behind. It was only a second's time, but in the end it was enough – endgame, over and out. And then without a word, or any last shadow of doubt, he gave Stuart's shorts the push that left him bare.

Bare, hard and hot at Michael's back, Stuart arched forward - a rush of air, like a sigh of relief, and then his voice came. Rough, and thick, and oh so hungry - he said only one word.

Vince's name.

And then in a charged moment, he pulled Vince into a kiss – the two men angled over Michael's shoulder as they got lost in the reciprocity of their need to taste, to have as much as they could. Greedy, wanton and fierce.

Headily aroused, Michael drew a shaky breath as they held him there; Stuart's touch at his waist hard, and harsh – as if he were on the edge of a cliff and needed something desperately on which to cling, and Vince's arms encircling him as he pulled Stuart in and against Michael's body as they moved back and forth against him. Consciously or not, both men driving Michael mad as he felt their passion, as he listened to their sounds. And as he played witness to two men finding their way on a path unconventional.

The hot slide of Stuart's cock at his back, rubbing against his ass, called Michael's attention back to a detail just as pressing in front, but still covered from view. The towel around Vince's waist a hindrance that Michael made quick work of with a quick yank; the cotton falling to the floor as Vince gasped and broke the kiss.

Eyes shifting from Stuart's to Michael's, he bit his lip and made a sound – warm and needy, as he arched against Michael's own risen flesh. Breathing rough, he cupped Michael's face and grazed his lips over the slight dark stubble of his chin – maintaining contact, resting cheek to cheek with him, even as it was easy to tell that he was looking at Stuart.

Michael closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of them – the sweat and musk filling his senses so well that he felt drunk. And then he felt it, the presence and the pressure of Stuart's hands – one at his hip and the other on his opposite shoulder. Down, pressing down – telling him without words what was wanted. What was needed; and it was a request – perhaps even a command, with which Michael was only too happy to comply.

The journey to his knees was one of friction, skin slick and hot – warming him on both sides all the way to the floor where he found himself kneeling on the very towel he'd caused to fall. Kneeling and panting as his hungry eyes scanned both men in all their glory from head to toe, Michael couldn't help but touch them – his hands skimming, caressing up legs and thighs as he pulled himself straight up and in. As he buried his face, his mouth in the cradle of first one man's groin and then the other – nuzzling, breathing in the differences – listening to the groans and wet sounds released as Stuart and Vince kissed. Kissed and arched closer to the impending promise of what Michael was about to do.

And do he did, parting his lips to the rise and fire of Vince's hard flesh – taking him over his tongue and into his mouth, murmuring warmly as Vince jerked and moved against the talents of his tongue and lips. Then in a blink, Michael pulled back and turned to the other – turned and did the same to Stuart with a rising sense of hunger, causing the Irishman's breath to hitch as he hissed appreciatively against the wet call of Vince's lips. "Fuck, he's good."

Passing back, and then forth – switching out from man to man as he himself thrilled at the illicitness of what he was doing; the brazenness of it causing his belly to burn as his cock grew so hard it was a desperate ache that called for him to touch himself. But he wouldn't, knew he'd go off too quickly in the face of what he was feeling – what was happening to them all. So Michael focused instead on the two above him, on driving their need higher and then higher still.

Drawing back, he looked up – watching the two men as he took them both in hand, stroking with palms made wet with his spit and their pre-cum. Vince was panting, hands mapping Stuart's skin – clasping him close by the neck, running his fingers over Stuart's chest – and all the while looking at him with eyes half-closed with want and made deep with years. Stuart was moaning softly, now and again, whispering to Vince as he licked and nibbled over the curve of his friend's neck, as he moved his mouth back again and again to taste and take Vince's breath with a kiss, another and then the next.

Until with a groan, shiver and start – they looked down to see Michael, with his eyes almost coal black and lips full from use, bringing their flesh near – matching them up length for length as he wrapped his hands around them both and started to lick and mouth the heads of their cocks, the both together.

"Stuart! Ahh, I… He… oh, fuck." Vince's voice raining down had Michael glancing up again, seeing him strung so tight with want – the expression on his face, the flex of his stomach; he was close, almost to the brink and wading in the space between the need for it to last forever and the drive for a faster end.

And then suddenly there was no time left; there was only Vince's hands dropping, clutching at Michael's hair – mindful enough not to cause pain, but forceful nonetheless – pulling him close, angling his head as Vince's hips thrust and he was pouring over Michael's tongue with a soft rusted curse. Stuart at Vince's side, having moved away just at the last – arm around his back, the other clasping Vince's face firmly – not allowing him to look away, holding him tightly as the climax came over his friend's body and across his face. The three of them locked as bliss road through Vince with a ragged roar that left him shaken, legs weak.

Michael held close, hugging his arms around Vince's thighs - feeling the small tremor passing through them as he himself shook with passion unspent. His cock was so hard, it rose straight up against his body. And his senses, they were heightened to the point where he seemed to feel, smell, hear and taste everything times ten. The hair on Vince's legs brushing over Michael's sex, the scent of the sweat and come filling his nose, the taste coating his tongue and the sound, the smooth sotto voce of Stuart murmuring from above - the words a tangle of seduction, affection and demand. The man's flesh calling, like Michael's, for more.

Turning his face, Michael closed his eyes and smiled – the last sight seen being the continuing rise of Vince's cock, the man's hard-on still tumescent and wet from his mouth. He brushed his lips over the shaft, pressing his nose in the dark curls surrounding and … just … breathed him in. Took him in; into himself just as he had his seed – enjoying the moment as it held on the verge of whatever would come.

When Vince next shifted, Michael looked up to see him nodding his head at something Stuart had said. Vince's only addendum being one word, "Bed." The tone making it apparent that it was what he wanted, needed in that moment – a new platform for future play. The passage of a touch over the side of Michael's face, Vince's thankful smile to Michael's slow grin – and off he went, waiting for Stuart and Michael to follow.

Two pairs of eyes, one from above and the other from below, tracked his progression – taking in with hunger and heat, the view of Vince walking away. Stuart claiming each inch and curve of skin, back to bum – with the relish of a connoisseur. Michael, hands clenched, breathing out a sound, quiet – wistful. Wantful….

The sound it seemed was all the siren's call needed to turn the anticipation of what-next into the coming answer of what-now when with a suddenness to surprise, Michael found his entire field of vision to be Stuart's face. The man sweeping down in a rush, crouching with one knee to the floor for balance as his hands took Michael's face in a grip and pulled him in for a kiss. Or rather a version of one, as his lips were forced open for Stuart's tongue to map his chosen course – that being to taste and take every last bit of Vince to be found in Michael's mouth.

Whimpering softly at force of the other man's need, under the control of Stuart's warring lips – Michael reached out, hands grasping for a hold, a touch . . . anything to ground his whirling senses. But as soon as he made contact, fingers sliding up Stuart's thighs, Michael had to groan as Stuart snatched his hands back, gripping Michael's wrists. Held there, close but unable to move back or go forward – Michael remained still, panting as Stuart ended the kiss and looked at him with eyes made dark with desire. Blinking as he heard the man's voice, accent thick and low, saying, "Get on the bed."

Rising slowly with an effort to keep himself steady given his shaky legs, Michael took a deep breath as he looked from Stuart gorgeous and sleek, to Vince sitting on the bed with legs folded and eyes warm. Seeing Vince give him a nod, Michael walked to the bed - welcomed there as Vince took his hand and pulled him into a tangle across the duvet. A surprised, nervous laugh escaped him before the ability of speech was cut off with a kiss, the two of them tussling - rolling this way then that with Vince the aggressor and Michael arching against him.

Michael broke the kiss, head thrown back, and groaned as Vince licked and nipped at the curve of his throat. Pressed down, held beneath Vince's weight - he could only clutch at and hold onto the man who was circling down against him, flesh rising as hard as before to parallel Michael's own. Edging closer and closer to not being able to hold back, Michael pulled Vince's head up - his fingers passing through the damp disarrayed spikes of Vince's hair as he leaned up to whisper, "Is it gonna be you, Vince? Are you gonna fuck me?"

Vince's first response was an appreciative hum as he buried his face against the dark of Michael's hair, his hand stroking down the length of Michael's back, rubbing and pulling at the curve of Michael's ass – teasing a groan out of him before moving his hand down further to grip and pull Michael's leg up and over his own hip. Then quick enough to steal Michael's breath, Vince jerked them both over until he was the one on his back and Michael was kneeling above. Laughing at the look on Michael's face, Vince kissed him wet and deep before lying back and looking to the left. "He is…"

Feeling the bed shift slightly, Michael followed Vince's eyes to Stuart – face intent and hungry, crawling his way across the large king size mattress towards them. The intensity in his eyes was enough to let Michael know he was about to be had – and had well. Turning back to see Vince still focused on the man prowling their way, Michael smoothed his hands up Vince's chest and leaned in to whisper, "And you, him?" When Vince looked his way, Michael added softly, "He wants it, wants you."

Expression kaleidoscoping from shy to sly in a flash, Vince settled in on a reply of, "Later." He brushed back the sweaty strands of hair from Michael's forehead, smiling almost like he'd won a prize – and Michael couldn't help but think Vince's 'later' was really an 'after.' And who could blame him, saving the best for last. Especially when last turned into just another word for a new beginning.

Before Michael could say anything else, he was startled by hands on his hips – pulling him back, handling him up onto his knees. And then Stuart was against him, meshed to his body, pressed to his back. An arm held across Michael's shoulders, Stuart rubbed his cock against Michael, the both of them groaning at the feel of Stuart slipping between the crease of his ass. Flesh hot, hard and ready for....

"Ahh," Michael managed, barely, to bite back his plea as Stuart's fingers passed back and then in, slicked with a speed and slight of hand that would have been impressive if Michael had been of a mind then to think round the gripping burn and warm friction as Stuart took control and mastered his flesh from the inside out. Hips moving, pushing back again and against the driving, maddening stretch – Michael remained braced by Stuart's arm, only able to reach out for Vince with a scrambling hand. "Please…." His voice needful, his eyes wild and dark. An obsidian call for more – more from Stuart, more from Vince. The one to take him higher, the other to hold him anchored through the storm.

It was a call that Vince answered, coming up on his knees before Michael – pushing skin to skin until there was no space between. Holding Michael's face, Vince kissed him - his tongue thrusting inside with a tease that echoed Stuart's fingers below until Michael jerked out of the kiss with a gasp as Stuart pulled free, only to return with covered cock teasing, testing at the entrance of Michael's body. Holding there as Vince continued to rub himself against Michael from the front.

"This friend," Stuart's voice in Michael's ear - the lilt of it, made heavy and thick with sex, with seduction. Then again he said, "Your friend," this time insistent, a nudge for a response - to which Michael managed to nod - his eyes half closed and looking at Vince, held in the intoxicating mix of sight, sound and touch. "Say his name."

Whether it was the words playing through his head, or the feel of Stuart almost and about to . . . or in the end, the look of recognition, the knowing that shown in Vince's eyes - whatever the reason, Michael gave into the temptation and let himself answer - calling in the presence of an un-attending other as he groaned, "Brian."

And then he was clutching at Vince's hips, shaking as Stuart pushed; pushed and entered slowly, one agonizing inch at a time – making it last, drawing out the moment as Michael tried to move back only to cry out as Stuart thrust in quick and strong at the last.

Housed within him, but holding still, Stuart growled out, "Again, say it again." The strain in his own voice more than evident as he circled his hips, but didn't move to do more. To take more; all of it held on the brink of Michael's reply.

Body zinging with sensations that seemed almost too much for his skin to hold, emotions high, Michael encircled Vince's waist with his arms – his eyes squeezed tight, and head pressed to the other's throat as he murmured Brian's name, moaning as Stuart began to move. The pace fast and fierce; Stuart too close to hold back and Michael almost lost before it had begun.

Wet with sweat, they slid together – the room filled with gruff sounds, panting breaths and the whack and slap of sex. Vince thrusting over Michael's shaft, the two of them leaving slick trails of pre-cum over each other's bellies as they arched and strained. Stuart rocking, fucking himself into Michael's body with his eyes fixed on Vince's face. Michael panting, opening his eyes to see Vince pulling Stuart in – a hand clasped tight in black curls as he took Stuart's mouth with his, the two of them imprisoning Michael between them as they kissed over the curve of his shoulder.

It was like that, held fast and locked in, that Michael found his ending. A sharp flash of heat, burning him inside and out, shot up his spine as his body seized and jerked. Splashes of seed bursting from him, coating his skin and Vince's just as he felt Stuart slam into him and go rigid – the sound of Vince's name escaping the man at his back as Stuart cursed and moaned, coming quick and strong.

Drunk on it, the feeling of wading through bliss – Michael collapsed against Vince, arms too weak to hold and eyes to heavy to remain opened. There was nothing then, but the feel of warmth and soothing hands. One last shiver as Stuart left him, opened and aching – and Michael gave into the sweet floating of Vince's guiding touch and the shifting sweep of being laid out on the bed. A kiss brushing his brow, and then Michael's awareness faded into sleep.

\- - - - - - -

"Yeah, ahhh. Fuck, oh fuck."

It wasn't just the words that woke him, the voice thick and urging; there was the moving too. The bed shifting and bearing the brunt of what could only be the cause of the speaker's pleasure, it was the two together that drew Michael from the haze of his aftermath's rest. But the words, the sound of them chorused by soft grunts and gasping sighs, were enough to orient his consciousness as he turned his head and slowly, sleepily opened his eyes.

His lips curving with a smile, Michael curled up on his side – quiet and slow, not wanting to distract as he watched. Watched and witnessed the coming together of two men long past due.

Vince over Stuart, the two men well into it with bodies joined. Stuart clinging, arms holding tight and legs wrapped round as Vince moved over him, within him. And Vince, taking him wild and strong – hands pulling down on Stuart's shoulders, jerking him bodily into the drive and thrust of his hips. They were a primal pair, the energy high, the need untamed.

Lips, teeth and tongues – their kisses never seemed to end, even for breath as they pushed themselves and each other closer and closer. Vince with his abandon and joy, Stuart with his wantonness and barriers down – they were beautiful, in a way that was meant to last in the memory.

In a way that would last in Michael's own.

With a sudden jerk and throaty moan, Stuart threw back his head and gasped. His body wracked with spasms that would have almost looked painful, had his face not shone with happiness, his voice hiccupping out of him with a laugh – high and free. Chuckling even again as Vince cursed and groaned, calling out Stuart's name as he too was overwhelmed with the force rushing through him, from him.

They held like that, still wrapped together until their bodies could take no more – Vince parting from Stuart's body with a small sound of regret as he did away with their protection and collapsed with Stuart together on the bed. Vince with his eyes closed, face pressed to Stuart's chest – unaware of anything, of anyone but the man against him. Stuart letting his eyes, heavy lidded and half-way to closing, roam over Vince as their breathing settled – content to be still, to be held in a way that spoke to Vince's influence over Stuart's kinetic nature.

It seemed a peace special to just the two, now made more so as Stuart stroked his hands over Vince's back and closed his eyes, his head nodding just once as if he'd found an answer to a question not yet asked.

Minutes passed, as Michael looked their way – his mind surprisingly quiet, despite the torrent of emotions he's witnessed and felt that night. Despite the questions that lay on the edge of his thoughtful awareness – some too personal to touch. Until with a silent sigh, he knew it was time to go.

Shifting as gently as he could, Michael slipped from the bed and made his way on unsteady legs back to the pile of clothing they'd left littering the floor. He dressed as quickly as he could, trying not to draw attention but unable in the end not to look back. To look back and find himself the focus of Stuart's sleepy gaze.

Neither man said a word as the moment held; none were needed as Stuart gave Michael a small smile and a pleased look that had Michael answering back with one of his own. A last check that he had all he'd come with, and Michael turned for the door – closing it with barely a sound.

\- - - - - - -

Not long after, another door opened with a gentle click and closed as Michael entered the room he shared with Brian. He was so tired, he was weaving slightly as he moved across the carpet in the dark. Kicking off his shoes, he stood blinking – trying to see across the floor, to make out the outline of the bed by the shift of moonlight coming through the opening of the drapes.

There was an outline there, someone under the covers. Brian.

Shifting about, exhausted and blurry-headed, Michael pulled off his shirt and opened his jeans. He pushed the denim down his legs, wincing a bit at the protest of his muscles and the twinge of his ass. A deep breath and he stood, wearing nothing but his underwear and trying to decide if he could manage a shower. Knowing he needed one, but losing consciousness with a quickness of one long since due some sleep.

He must have been standing there in a daze longer than he thought, out of it enough to start when he heard his name.

"Michael, come to bed."

Following the words to their source, Michael was about to crawl beneath the seductive warmth of the covers when he remembered. "I need to clean up." Even his voice was sounding slurred.

A hand appeared, Brian pulling him in with a tug on his wrist – enveloping him with a hugging arm as he held him close and gave Michael a small teasing sniff. Voice thick with rest, Brian murmured softly, "Someone had a good night." A pleased chuckle, a fond squeeze and he added sleepily, "Did Mikey like it?"

"Brian," the name a fond admonition, but also Michael's last coherent thought before he closed his eyes – comfortable, safe and in Brian's arms. Sleep passing over him as he fell into dreams, about what had happened….

And what could.

Finis


End file.
